


A Good Idea at the Time

by chiasmus



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiasmus/pseuds/chiasmus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles make a snack at midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Idea at the Time

It's nearing midnight when he and Charles finally finish their second chess game. They have both been drinking a little as well, not enough for either of them to be completely out of it, but enough to make slightly questionable decisions. Or maybe further past that point. Charles has decided that he's hungry, and announces, "We should make a fruit salad."

This doesn't seem like a bad idea, so Erik agrees, "All right, if that's what you want."

They go downstairs to the kitchen. Erik likes fruit and it gets included when he picks up the groceries, so there's plenty of it around. Erik takes out a large bowl they can mix the salad in while Charles gets the cutting board. He's debating what they should use, but Charles seems to have his own idea.

Charles starts to cut up a tomato. Erik just looks at him. "What? I'm helping."

"You don't put tomatoes in a fruit salad."

"Why not? They're a perfectly acceptable fruit," Charles says.

"But they shouldn't be in a _fruit salad_."

"They'll complement the olives nicely."

"What are you-- we are not putting olives in the fruit salad."

"Then what _are_ we putting in the fruit salad, Erik?" Charles asks patiently.

Erik thinks for a moment. "Apricots. Prunes. Rum."

Charles quirks a brow. "Rum is less of a fruit than either of the things I have mentioned."

"But it will make things better, not worse," Erik responds, since he feels it's an important distinction to make.

Charles sighs. "You haven't even given it a chance--"

"If you want to make a normal salad, we can, but we're not mixing olives with apricots."

"I can make Bloody Marys for us. A fruit drink to go with our salad."

Erik considers this. It's at least a better concession than what Charles has so far suggested. "Yes, Charles, go ahead and do that."

"You should add more than those three ingredients."

Erik will admit he has a point. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

"I would say pineapple, but it looks rather daunting."

"I should be able to handle it."

"Have you ever tried to cut one before?"

"No, but I can cut anything. That part is easy," Erik says with great confidence and pulls the largest knife in the kitchen to him. He picks up the pineapple and realizes he isn't really sure where to begin with it.

"See? It's complicated," Charles says as he roots around the refrigerator.

Erik gives him an annoyed look, but decides that if he cuts off the green part at the top, he can probably just halve it vertically down the center. The first part of that is easy; the second part is what proves problematic, not because it's difficult to cut, but because it then becomes awkward as there is still the exterior of the pineapple to deal with.

"Don't forget to take off the prickly parts," Charles contributes. "I don't think we have tomato juice."

Erik isn't really paying much attention to Charles as he's trying to skin the pineapple now without getting juice everywhere. "Then I guess the Bloody Marys will have to wait."

"No, no, I'll make this work. I do have all these tomato _fruits_ you aren't letting me add."

In the back of his mind Erik realizes Charles has said something he should perhaps be worried about, but doesn't do anything to try to stop him as Charles begins looking through the cabinets. Erik ends up with more unusable parts of the pineapple, but there are still a few pieces that can go into the salad. He's about to start working on the other half when he finally glances over at Charles. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, more confused than anything.

Charles has found a glass juicer that was always intended for oranges, or lemons, or maybe even limes. Definitely not tomatoes. Nevertheless, Charles is making a valiant effort now of juicing some of them over a pitcher. "I am making tomato juice," Charles declares, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "I told you I was going to. It's a bit tricky, though, because they're so squishy on the outside, too. At least with the citruses they have thicker skins."

"You can't just juice your own tomatoes and assume it's going to produce something drinkable," Erik says flatly.

" _You_ can't." Charles squats so that he can make himself eye level with the pitcher, then frowns at it. "But I'm not sure we have enough tomatoes for both of us. There can't be more than a half cup in there, and I've already squeezed three through."

Erik isn't even sure what to say to that. "You can go ahead and keep it all for yourself."

Charles stands and turns to face Erik, who throws a towel at him so he can wipe the tomato pulp off his fingers. "No, I don't want you to be disappointed. I know you must have been looking forward to my groovy fruit drink."

"Really, I'll live."

Charles deflates a little. "Maybe you were right in saying we should save it for another time."

"Yes, I think I was."

A thought occurs to Charles and his expression perks up once again. "I do still have olives though. And vodka."

Erik doesn't want to know what idea Charles has in his head now, but watches anyway as Charles takes out a jar of olives from the pantry and the vodka from the freezer. He pours some of the vodka into a glass and then drops the olives in; when it's apparent this is all he's going to do, Erik relaxes. "Now, we have to let them soak," Charles says.

"While you're letting them soak, do you want to bring me the rum?"

"Yes, let me just get rid of this." Charles gestures at the mess he had made and sets about cleaning it up while Erik finishes off the pineapple.

He has started on the apricots which are more cooperative, cutting them into pieces and dropping them in the bowl after he has removed the skins and pits. Charles brings the rum over to him, and a mango. "You should use this, too."

It's at least a step in the right direction. Erik accepts the mango. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Charles looks pleased with himself, then wanders back into the pantry. "I'm not sure we have prunes though."

"Why not?"

"Because. _Prunes_ , Erik." Charles pokes his head out. "Have you eaten prunes before?"

"Yes, and they're an integral part of what we're making."

"If you're sure." Charles sounds doubtful, but Erik isn't overly concerned, since Charles will see how wrong he is when the final product is delicious.

Charles relinquishes the prunes with some reluctance after Erik is finished with the mango. Erik quarters as many of them as he feels are necessary, then slices up an orange for good measure. He adds enough rum to cover the fruit, a sprinkling of brown sugar, and a small pinch of cinnamon. Charles watches him with undisguised amusement and something close to fondness. "We'll have to let the rum soak in, too," Erik says, moving to dispose of the extraneous fruit pieces leftover.

"Excellent timing, since the olives should be ready now." Charles peers into the glass he used and fishes out an olive, eating it with apparent delight. Erik watches him, bemused, leaning a little against the counter and not fighting him for the olives. "Don't you want some?" Charles asks.

"No, you can have them all."

Charles frowns. "That would be very selfish of me."

"Not if I'm telling you it's all right."

"You really should try one. They're very good."

"I've had olives, and I've had vodka before. I know what it's like."

"But you haven't had _these_ olives in _this_ vodka before," Charles says earnestly, sidling closer to Erik. "So you need to try it."

Erik's going to say something about how there's probably not any difference, but Charles takes the opportunity instead to sneak one of the olives into Erik's mouth. Charles looks at him expectantly while Erik chews, swallows, and gives Charles a half-hearted glare. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." Erik waits for a further explanation; rather than immediately provide one, Charles eats an olive, expression serene. When he's finished, he presents another to Erik. "We have to be fair."

This time Erik remains silent long enough that Charles eventually taps the olive against Erik's lips. If it were actually a matter of less absurdity Erik knows he could outlast Charles, but Charles is threatening to look crestfallen and Erik relents, which leaves Charles beaming once more. It may never cease to be disconcerting how genuinely happy Charles sometimes looks when he smiles at him -- Erik refuses to think about the last time anyone has done that with any sort of consistency because of the layers of other shit he would have to sift through to figure it out. He idly notes that Charles's fingertips taste like vodka, too, unsurprisingly, and tries to estimate how many olives may remain. "You do realize we'll have to share the prunes now. To continue being fair."

Charles grimaces. "I suppose we'll have to. I still think olives would have been the better choice for the salad, too."

"No, they wouldn't have been."

This may have been the wrong response, since Charles narrows his eyes and looks at the bowl. He doesn't feed Erik another olive, but instead lobs it in the general direction of the fruit salad and somehow manages to be on target. Erik doesn't say anything, just walks over to pick the olive out. "That one isn't yours. This one is," Charles says, holding up a different olive. "And now you're too far away for me to give it to you."

Erik hasn't moved much, but he also isn't standing beside Charles anymore. "You'll have to keep the rest for yourself, since I'm not letting you closer to the fruit salad until it's finished."

"I can be very resourceful." Charles looks like he's about walk over to Erik, so Erik picks out the metal objects Charles has on him - his watch, his belt buckle - and exerts just the right amount of pressure that Charles can feel the resistance when he tries to move. It's not enough in and of itself to really hinder him, but it has the desired effect as Charles stops and looks at him in amusement. "Then I guess I'll have to do this."

"This" is evidently throwing the olive at Erik with his free hand. Erik catches it and pops it into his mouth. "Really, Charles, you'll have to do better than that."

"That was quite successful, since you ate your olive. Now you need to give the one back to the bowl and everything will be equally distributed."

Erik eats that olive, too. Charles sighs, takes a drink of the vodka, then offers it to Erik. "Want any?"

There are still olives rolling around in the bottom of the glass, but Erik leans forward and takes it anyway. He doesn't hand it back to Charles, just in case, even after he has drunk what he wanted. This time Erik allows Charles to join him at the island in the middle of the kitchen. "The salad is ready," Erik decides. "So we're not allowed to add anything else to it."

"But I still want--"

"No." Erik picks out one of the rum-infused prune pieces and offers it to Charles. "Here, try this."

Charles waits. It only takes Erik a moment to realize Charles isn't going to take it from him, and he'll have to feed Charles the way Charles fed him the olives. The pieces of prune are slightly smaller, but Erik goes along with it, waiting for Charles's reaction.

"Your fingers taste like rum," Charles says, evidently willing to state the obvious unlike Erik. "It's surprisingly good."

Erik feels smug. "I know what I'm doing," he says, taking a piece of pineapple for himself.

Charles begins to pick out the apricots and Erik makes sure to feed him more prunes. They've both made it a reasonable way through the fruit salad when Charles suddenly announces, "Okay, I am going to prove you were wrong regarding my one idea."

Erik has become distracted by the rum and the softness of Charles's lips when he accidentally touches them. He isn't sure which idea Charles is talking about, but all he asks is, "How?"

"With empirical evidence, my friend." Charles takes one of the few remaining olives and a slice of apricot to eat both simultaneously.

It is obvious that what Charles is experiencing is best described as his own culinary nightmare. His expression is confident when he begins, but rapidly changes to one of revulsion so that he can't even pretend like the combination is a good idea. To Charles's credit, he doesn't spit either of them out. He makes a grab for the rum and drinks some of it straight from the bottle before he's able to choke out, "That is horrid. Simply awful. Why did I put that in my mouth?"

Erik begins to laugh.

It's not the soul-deep kind like when he moved the satellite dish, though it comes from a similar place that Erik forgets is within him. It remains such a foreign feeling that Erik isn't sure if it's even a good one, but it seems unstoppable now. Charles is looking at him like he has gone a little mad, and maybe he has. "It's just. Your face," is the only explanation he can offer.

Charles shakes his head, but he's grinning, and cracking like Erik. Erik has already stopped laughing by the time Charles starts, so the sound cascades around him. It's the kind of stupid, pointless joy that Erik normally disregards and almost never indulges in.

They draw closer together without Erik realizing it until he has Charles bracketed against the counter, one arm on either side of him. "See, you should have just listened to me from the start."

"Theoretically it was a good idea," Charles insists, once he has calmed down enough to respond.

"Theory and reality are quite different."

"This time at least."

"I've found that's the case most times," Erik says. "At least when the theories are overly optimistic."

Charles gives him a look that's sad, but not pitying and quick to pass. They've had this argument before in various permutations and Erik doesn't want to rehash it now. Charles seems disinclined to as well since he lets the matter drop. Erik knows he's standing too close to Charles, is looming over him a little so that their gazes continue to meet. He doesn't want to move away, though, because he knows the moment will be over. This is still out of his element -- it's not a matter of experience, since he has had plenty of that; Erik just isn't sure what to do with these quieter, gentler moments that Charles is at the center of.

Fortunately, Charles has a better grasp of what to do next and finds what little space remains between them to draw closer. When Charles kisses him he tastes like vodka and rum and apricot and olive. It's honestly a terrible combination, but that doesn't deter Erik from pursuing a second kiss when the first ends. One of his arms winds around Charles's waist to secure him in place. Erik's hand presses flat against his back to draw him closer, close enough that when Charles starts to laugh again Erik can feel it bubbling up and shaking through him as the sound pushes against Erik's lips. He pulls back and gives Charles a wary look, at which point Charles grasps the front of Erik's shirt and keeps him from withdrawing any further.

"I just thought -- tomatoes would have ruined it, too."

Erik doesn't ask why Charles is still thinking about that, doesn't need to when Charles is then pushing him forward, dragging him out of the kitchen and into another kiss. They're partway upstairs when Charles seems to have another revelation and Erik has to stop him from backtracking.

"There's still salad left. The children might try to eat it for breakfast--"

"I think even they'll realize it's a bad idea. Besides, you keep the vodka in the freezer," he points out, hand somewhere beneath Charles's shirt.

"There's ice cream there to distract them."

"And rum in the pantry."

"Behind the biscuits."

"How old were you when you had your first drink?" Erik asks, his mouth finding a spot on Charles's neck that draws a strangled moan from him.

"Good point," Charles says, even though it really isn't.

Erik doesn't think it matters since he'll be the first one up anyway, and he can clear everything away before everyone else wakes -- no matter how he spends his night, things like that don't immediately change. Charles smiles, seemingly at peace with their present course of action again, and leads Erik the rest of the way upstairs.

This time, at last, Erik finds that it's easy for both of them to not think about anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried the vodka-soaked olive and rum-soaked apricot thing out of morbid curiosity (well, I substituted peaches for the apricot because I didn't have any). It is really atrocious. My friend tried it, too, and she describes the the taste as "a burnt, sugary tire", which is accurate. The rum-soaked prunes were actually okay.


End file.
